Aftermath
by dreams-of-a-novel
Summary: Christine has a few demons that have been silent for several years. When they resurface, can her roommate, Adam, save her from herself, or will it be too late? Some of the chapters got screwed up, so I'm still working out some of the kinks.
1. Chapter 1

**Full Summary:** Adam Lambert, glam rocker and sex god extraordinaire, is returning home from a long period of touring. His roommate and best friend Christine (Christie) anxiously awaits his return. Self-harm is a ghost that will forever haunt Christie, and the day Adam returns home, this ghost rears its ugly head once more. Clinging to life by a thread, and with a blood transfusion being her only chance at survival, will Christie pull through and learn a life-altering lesson in self-control, or will the consequences be fatal?

This is my first time posting anything on this website, or writing any kind of fan fiction at all, for that matter. This little beauty was conceived several months ago (like, allllll the way back in August/September) while I was one of my crazy Glambert fangirl YouTube sprees, finding every video of Adam and Tommy sucking each other's faces off during "Fever", and then proceeding to rape the poor "Replay" button over and over again. After a few deplorable bouts of writer's block, which, thankfully, didn't last long, this gem entered the world on December 17, 2010. And I couldn't have been a prouder writer-mama. I've considered actually sending this to an editor/publisher, but then I realized that that meant that I would have to change Adam's and Tommy's names. So, for now, it stays with the ones who (I hope) will appreciate it the most. Reviews are my crack; please feed my addiction. If your offerings please me, I shall reward you with the prized Glambulge on a silver platter with a side of glitter. Be good to me! ;)

Oh, and just for the record: these two very, extraordinarily gorgeous men do not belong to me. I asked for them for Christmas…but alas, I was sorely disappointed.

**Christine**

The ceramic tiles of the bathroom floor were cool against my bare legs, which, like the rest of my body, were on fire. I was shaking all over and drenched in a cold sweat. I felt like one of those drug addicts from the movies—bloodshot eyes, sweating, trembling all over—desperate for another fix. No, it wasn't a bottle, it wasn't a needle, it wasn't a pill, but it was something just as satisfying. From across the room, I could just hear that blade whispering my name, taunting me, daring me to pick it up and make the first mark. My vision blurred for several seconds and then focused back in on the razor.

It wasn't even mine. I had taken it from my roommate's medicine cabinet. He'd never miss it; he was rarely here anyway. Adam was always out somewhere, whether it was some club in town, drinking and partying, or on his bus heading to some venue in another town, in another state. He lived an outrageous lifestyle: one of glamour, sex, music, and God knows what else. I got to go with him once; he had a two-night gig in New York City, and since he knew I'd never been, he took me with him. Being on the road was a wild experience, alright—expensive hotels, crazed fans, sleeping all day and playing all night. I missed him so much when he was away. He was my best friend, almost like a brother, but sometimes a little more.

The apartment we shared was so lonely when he was away, too quiet. I was so used to waking up in the morning to strong, aromatic coffee, the sound of his voice as he hummed under his breath or sang along with the radio that played in our kitchen. I missed the sound of his laughter and I could barely dress myself in the morning anymore without my personal fashion consultant.

At first I was alright. I was never one to have separation anxiety, but the days turned into weeks, and I sank back into a hole that had long since been filled and forgotten. I wasn't the stupid teenager who whipped out a razorblade the minute a situation went sour anymore. With some serious counseling and mild antidepressants, I had basically returned to my old happy-go-lucky self.

Having graduated from college, I moved away from Minneapolis and took a cross-country road trip to California, where I had dreamed of making a life for myself since I was probably eight or nine years old. I wanted to make it big in the music industry, but now here I was now, twenty-five years old, singing in a coffee shop and then bartending on the weekends. Not exactly the "record label smash hit" that I'd been hoping for, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

No sooner had my bitter tears begun to fall and I willed myself to press the metal blade into my flesh, the apartment door opened and then clicked shut. I froze. Alas, in my panic, I had drawn a gruesome red line right down the middle of my right forearm. It was a deep one, but it didn't even hurt. At first, it looked like I'd just drawn a long, thin line with bright red lipstick. But within a matter of seconds, that innocent-looking crimson streak grew darker the longer it became exposed to the air, and it trickled fast down my arm. I fumbled around blindly for some toilet paper or some tissues, something—_anything_—to stop the bleeding before whoever had just walked in here found me.

I heard the _thud_ of something heavy—a bag maybe?—being dropped carelessly to the floor. Quiet as a mouse, and with my good arm reaching out for something to clean up the mess I had made, I tried to push myself up out of my slouched sitting position. Carelessly, I turned at the waist and used my right arm to brace myself against the toilet lid, and my arm gushed even more blood, that glistening, dark red, life-giving substance, the same stuff that could kill me if I lost enough of it. I hissed as the product of my stupidity burned mercilessly and it was only when I heard the approaching footsteps that I dearly wished that I could take back that small cry of agony and swallow it back down. As the hollow treads sounded on the wood floor, my breath hitched in my throat, and then I caught a familiar, unmistakable scent—sweet, somewhat spicy, and utterly intoxicating. _It can't be!_ I thought in disbelief. _He—he's not due home until…_ Oh, God. What day was it? Sunday. It _was_ him. Shit. Shit, shit, shit! _I'm in _so_ much trouble now!_

Then another voice, that little Jiminy Cricket voice (what's that called?) in the back of my head, said: _"Well, what did you expect, Christine? Did you think you'd get away with it forever? Did you think someone wouldn't eventually find out? Did you think HE wouldn't find out?"_

Fresh tears built up behind my eyes and threatened to spill over again and I blinked hard to prevent them from falling, even though I knew that effort would soon prove futile. I swallowed the California-sized lump in my throat and waited. Whatever blood was left within me thumped in my ears, deafening me so that I could barely hear his footsteps anymore. I felt cold now, numb, but I didn't dare look down at my blood-soaked clothes. Through my half-open lids, I spotted the toe of a snakeskin boot.


	2. Chapter 2

To prevent any confusion, the POVs during this story switch between Adam and Christie. Just thought I would clear that up.

**Adam**

People think the life of a rockstar is all glam, glitz, and parties—well, I take that back, a lot of it is—but there's a whole other aspect that they don't see or understand. It's exhausting, it's hectic, but above all, it's lonely. I mean, sure, I'm with my band 24/7, and we all clicked like _that_, but it's not the same as being able to go home at the end of the week to the one you love, eat a homecooked meal with them, lay around and watch TV, and then have really amazing sex. You just don't get that on the road. What you get is people telling you what to do, fast food (and that's pretty hard when you're trying to take care of your physical appearance), crazy fans, and very little sleep. Lucky us, we play about five shows a week, so that gives us some time to recharge. Then again, there are always the interviews, TV appearances, and meet-and-greets, so after a while, Red Bull and Monster become your best friends. But the traveling itself, even without the performing, is pretty tiring. Naturally, I was thrilled when the tour took a month-long hiatus, and I could go home. Back to California, back to the sun, back to the sand, back to my apartment, back to my bed, and back to Christie.

Now, don't go getting all riled up; no, she's not my girlfriend, you all know the deal. One Adam Lambert's sexuality was the center of entertainment media attention for weeks. She's my _roommate_. We've been living together for just over a year now, and things have been great. It was kinda weird at first because I think she was a little starstruck when she realized who I was. At the time, she was a starving artist, just trying to get by with her open mic nights at the local coffee shops, and her bartending tips. I, on the other hand, was starting out after "Idol", which was almost like a dream, actually, and I was trying to get a record together, trying to make a name for myself. A while back, I had placed an ad in the paper for a roommate. About a week later, I got a phone call in response to the ad, and that's when Christie came into the picture. We split the rent, she bought the groceries and I took care of the laundry. I informed her that I wouldn't always be around, so she'd have to get used to being alone from time to time. And she was cool with that.

Of course, there were times when I was home, and that was almost more difficult than being on the road, since I had a limited amount of time that I wanted to spend with so many people. That time was either spent with her, my family, or Tommy. Honestly, I couldn't have asked for a better roommate. She's one of those girls that could get along with almost anybody, even a freak like me—the gay guy who runs around kissing his bassist on national primetime television and earning a "reputation" through leaked photos of cross-dressing and making out with guys. When we had our first heart-to-heart chat, spilling anything and everything, I told her all these things and do you know what she said to me? Ha, she said, "Adam, honey, there's no crime in having a little fun with your life. You just go ahead and kiss whoever you want, whether it's Tommy, or me"—we both blushed at that, and she giggled, flashing that smile of hers that I love so much—"or, psh, the guy downstairs, for all I care. And I could care less what you wear. You wanna wear a dress every now and then?" She laughs then, and her smile reaches her eyes. "I'll even go shopping to find one for you!" But I declined, insisting that my drag days were over.

But nobody's perfect, right? Christie had some skeletons in her closet too. I was only slightly surprised to hear this, since I had already noticed the faded scars that ran up and down her arms and the backs of her legs, and who knows where else. I took her hand in mine, looked her in the eye, and asked, "Christine, what on Earth possessed you to do this to yourself?"

She wouldn't look at me as she softly replied, "It was a long time ago. I was…messed up, and I didn't know how else to deal with how I was feeling. I hated myself. I thought I was ugly. I didn't deserve to be happy…" she trailed off. "And so I hurt myself. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. I-I couldn't help myself!" Her voice cracked just then and I could tell she was trying hard not to break down. That's when she slowly turned her green eyes up to look at me. "But I'm not that person anymore, Adam," she whispered with a slight shake of her head. "I'm not."

I still held on to her hand, smiling sadly. "I still don't understand why… Chris, honey, _look at you_!" I pulled her into the bathroom, turned her to face the mirror, and placed my hands on her shoulders. "You are beautiful. When I look at you, all I see is a beautiful, funny, sweet girl who made some bad choices, just like me, in order to find herself. And look at me: I'm touring the country—touring the _world_—with my band, making music, doing what I love, living my dream. Do I have flaws? Hell, yes! Tons of 'em!" I placed my hand to her cheek. "But you…you may just need a little more time. It's like that song goes: _'Don't be afraid of what's inside,' _" I sang softly. "_'Gonna tell ya, you'll be alright, in the aftermath…' _"

And then the tears came. She lurched forward and cried into my chest. I wrapped my arms around her slender waist, gently stroking her light brown hair. I felt her small frame trembling with sobs. "Shhhh, it's okay," I whispered. "Everything's gonna be alright." I had no idea how wrong I would turn out to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Christine**

The razor slipped from my grasp and my head lolled to the side, resting against the wall, just as Adam walked into the bathroom. As soon as he looked down, his jaw dropped and he slid down onto the floor in front of me, and grabbed me by the shoulders. The knees of his dark-wash jeans were drenched in my blood. He shook me a few times.

"Christie!" His voice sounded like an echo at the end of a tunnel. "Christine, look at me! _Open your eyes_!" he shouted, shaking me even harder. Finally, with a bit of effort, my eyelids fluttered open.

"Huh…wha—Adam?" I mumbled, my speech totally slurred. "Wha's go'n on?" I tried to lift my head, but it felt like a fifty-pound bowling ball, so I just let it rest back against the edge of the toilet.

"I came home. Tour's on a break for a little while." He sighed, cradling my head in his hands. "What did you _do_?" he demanded gently, running his thumb down one of my tear-stained cheeks.

I opened my mouth to talk, but all that came out was a nearly inaudible squeak. His blue eyes were full of sadness, regret, disappointment, and another emotion that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket, saying, "I'm calling an ambulance right now. You're not gonna die on me. I won't let you!" Heartbreak was evident in his voice. Once he ended the call, he looked into my half-closed eyes, and I tried to focus on him. "They'll be here any minute, sweetie. Just "please, _please_ hang on," he begged. "God, you're so pale…" he murmured to no one in particular, I suppose, since I barely heard him.

He moved closer and very carefully scooped me up in his arms and I rested my head against his chest. Adam softly kissed my forehead and I could've sworn I felt a tear drip onto my skin at that moment. I was right; when I looked up at him, his eyes were wet. I wanted so badly to wipe those tears away, even though I knew that doing so would only cause me to lose even more blood, but I did it anyway; I couldn't stand to see him cry.

"Hey, hey, what's with the waterworks? Cut it out," I insisted, aiming for a teasing tone, but I just ended up sounding pathetic. Adam cleared his throat and swallowed hard, and then forced a smile onto his face. I laughed weakly. "Heh, that's better."

Suddenly, from outside, we heard the wailing sirens of the approaching ambulance.

"Finally," Adam sighed in relief, turning his head to look out the bathroom window. "You're gonna be alright now, I promise." He took my uninjured hand and brushed his lips against my knuckles.

We heard the EMTs rushing up the stairs to our apartment. Luckily, we were located on the third floor, so we only had to wait a few minutes. "I've told them our apartment number, so I don't have to leave you," he said. I just nodded, closing my eyes for a moment. Then I heard unfamiliar voices.

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-five," Adam replies.

"Her height and weight?"

"Uhh, I'm guessing about five-foot-four and about a hundred and twenty pounds, maybe. I'm not entirely sure."

"And you are…?"

"Her roommate." His tone was laced with urgency and desperation. "Please, we've got to get her out of here! Can't these questions wait until we get her stabilized?" I peered up at Adam, clutching his dark locks in frustration. His hands were slick with blood. _My _blood.

I felt one of the EMTs take my right arm gingerly in his gloved hands and wrap it tightly in some sort of white sterile bandaging. I winced at how tight it was.

Suddenly, I was strapped securely to a stretcher and being lifted up and I instantly felt lightheaded and nauseous. Another EMT placed an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth. Then several heavy blankets were placed over me. I scrunched my eyes shut and took a few slow, deep breaths—in and out, in and out—to keep myself from vomiting. I felt like such a child when I reached for Adam, tears in my eyes, and choking on my breath. He immediately took my hand and squeezed it lightly. His attention was diverted by one of the EMTs calling his name.

"Mr. Lambert, there wouldn't happen to be an elevator nearby, would there?" one of them asked. "Perhaps one used for utility purposes? I don't think we'll be able to get her down the stairs like this."

Adam thought for a second and then replied, "There's one down at the other end of the hall. It's not very big, but I think we'll be able to get her in."

Once we were downstairs, Adam and one of the emergency techs pushed open the double doors of our apartment building and the other two EMTs hoisted me into the back of the waiting ambulance. This entire time, Adam had never let go of my hand.

"I can ride with her, right?" I heard him ask worriedly from outside.

"Well, technically—"

"Please. She needs me." His body was slumped in exhausted resignation.

There was a short pause and then a sigh. "Alright."

Adam swung himself up into the back of the ambulance and sat beside me on one of the bench seats. Everything started happening so fast; there were three EMTs in the back with Adam and me, taking my vitals and examining my injury. First, I was hooked up to a heart monitor—obnoxious sticky pads, wires, and all—and a blood pressure cuff was secured around my upper left arm. The oxygen mask was removed from my face and replaced with oxygen tubes that hooked around my ears. An IV was carefully inserted into the back of my left hand and I felt the cool rush of the saline solution in my veins and the metallic taste in my mouth.

"Her blood pressure is extremely low," one of the EMTs commented. "We need to give her a shot of epinephrine. Mr. Lambert, since Ms. Neumann is incapacitated at the moment, would you be willing to sign this consent form so that she may receive treatment from us and when she gets to the hospital?"

Before Adam could answer, I placed my hand on top of his and whispered, "Yes. Just do it."

He took up the clipboard in his black-manicured hands and scrawled his name, initials, and the date on the form and then handed it back to the tech.

When the epinephrine was injected into my IV and reached my veins, I felt as if I'd been shocked by a thousand volts of electricity. It stung like hell, but only for a minute. My breath hitched in my throat and suddenly my heart jolted and the beeping on my heart monitor picked up slightly. I heard Adam let out a deep breath, one I suspect he'd been holding for a while. I reached out to touch his leg.

"You need to stop worrying," I chided gently. "I'm going to be alright." But the last part sounded more like a question. I groaned in sudden pain, all of my muscles tensing up, and I clenched my teeth.

"Just try to relax, honey," one of the EMTs instructed.

I looked down then and my mouth fell open in shock. "Adam…" I whispered hoarsely. "It's…there's more…"

Indeed, more blood was seeping through the sterile bandages. The EMTs noticed this immediately and applied more bandages on top of the soiled ones. Adam bowed his head—possibly in silent prayer, I don't know—and he reached over and held onto my left hand again.

Then, suddenly, as if in realization, he looked up at one of the EMTs and said, "She's going to need a blood transfusion, isn't she?"

Their face was an emotionless mask. "Perhaps. If that's even an option for her."

We arrived at the hospital soon after my bandages were reapplied; I was lifted out of the ambulance and rushed into the emergency room. Adam was at my side the whole time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Adam**

Once we arrived at the hospital, Christie and I were separated. She was whisked away into another room to be examined by a horde of doctors, and I was left to sit in the waiting room, along with a mother and her gaggle of whiny, coughing kids, and an old woman with a broken wrist. The mother eyed me cautiously; it was probably the hair and eyeliner that set her off. I held my head in my hands, begging to whatever higher power there was that Christie would be alright.

Then a doctor in a white lab coat turned the corner and approached me. A medical chart was tucked under his arm. "You're Mr. Lambert, I assume?" he inquired. I just stared blankly back at him. "I'm Doctor Lewis. Christine is asleep now. We've closed up her arm, but her vitals are failing. She still desperately needs that transfusion. If you—"

"I will. I'll do whatever it takes," I responded immediately. "Anything. Just—just tell me what to do."

"We'll need to run a few tests to make sure that you're a match. The chances of there being any sort of complications are very slim. But I must warn you, in this process, whether you two are a match or not, Christine's life is even more at stake than it is now. If you are in fact a match, you are also risking your life. Is that a chance you're willing to take, Mr. Lambert?" The doctor's face was very solemn, his mouth set in a tight line. By now, he was sitting in the chair next to me.

Sighing heavily and raking a hand through my already messy and blood-caked hair, I said, "Look, Doc, time isn't slowing down for her." I nodded toward the room, made entirely of glass windows, where Christie lay sleeping. "If anything, it's going in fast-forward. I already said I would do it. I don't care about the risks or any of that shit, I just…" I swallowed hard, trying to force the lump and stinging tears back down, save them for another time, "I'll do anything—_anything_—to know that she'll be okay." I was growing more and more impatient with this guy by the second. "Now, give me the papers, damn it!" I nearly shouted.

He fished the correct forms out of the manila folder that sat in his lap and I hastily signed Christie's life over to him. Again. Once I had returned them to him and he had disappeared around the corner—to the lab, I assume—I pulled my cell phone out of my back pocket and dialed Tommy's number. I needed to hear my Glitterbaby's voice before I completely lost it and broke down, right here in the middle of this hospital waiting room. By now, it was late evening, so I figured he'd be home.

"Mmm, hello? Adam, is that you, Babyboy?" His voice sounded scratchy and tired.

"Yeah, it's me," I replied, swiping at the tears that I hadn't even noticed had fallen. And he could tell by the tone of my voice that something was terribly wrong.

"Baby, what's the matter?" he asked concernedly. "You're crying. You never cry. So something's definitely wrong. Tell me."

I choked on the sob that was lodged in my throat and confessed, "Christie's in the hospital, Tommy. She—something happened earlier today…_she cut herself_," I finally managed, "and she's in the next room, bleeding to death. The doctors are doing everything they can, but I don't think it'll be enough. We're gonna try a blood transfusion—I'm giving her my blood—but… Oh, god, Tommy, what do I do?" I was shaking with sobs now, and I was barely able to hold the phone to my ear.

"Alright, umm, I-I'll be down there just as fast as I can, I promise. Just hang in there, Babyboy. Christie's gonna be okay." But I heard the edge of uncertainty in his voice; he probably didn't believe she'd make it through this any more than I did.


	5. Chapter 5

**Christine**

The grogginess lifted just enough for me to notice some of my surroundings. I felt the thin fabric of a hospital gown touching my skin, and as I tried to shift in my sleep, the wires of the heart monitors gave a sharp tug, so I stayed where I was, in an awkward fetal position. My head was tucked down to my chest and I protectively clutched my injured arm, which was still wrapped securely in its sterile dressing.

Then the door to my room slid open and I heard a few pairs of footsteps enter the room. Something cool and damp was placed upon my forehead; it was a welcome change from the alternating hot and cold sweat I was drenched in. Apparently I'd been running a fever for quite some time, ever since the ambulance came. A gentle hand was placed on top of mine, above where my IV had been inserted. It took an enormous amount of effort just to open my eyes, which were heavy from my drugged slumber. Suddenly I was blinded by a roomful of fluorescent lighting and I immediately squeezed my eyes shut again. I heard the soft _click_ of a light switch and waited several seconds, gathering up more strength and some guts to reopen my eyes. Luckily, this time the room was pleasantly dark, the only visible light coming from outside my room, and it was blocked out by the curtain that was pulled all the way around on its rod for privacy. Then a soothing voice spoke:

"Hey, princess, how are you feeling?" _Adam,_ I thought. So he had stayed. He was seated in a chair at my bedside and he squeezed my hand a little. "Can you feel that?" he asked softly. I just hummed in response. He dabbed at my brow with a wet cloth and then brushed away some of my hair that was stuck to my forehead with sweat and then he pressed a kiss to my temple.

I blinked to clear the blurriness and opened my eyes a little more. I noticed another person in the room, leaning against the wall—he was slender but lean, dressed in a black-and-white-striped hoodie and black skinny jeans, with a mop of white-blonde hair with black streaks, and bangs falling over one of his big brown eyes. I knew that face.

"Tommy?" I asked hoarsely.

The petite blonde strode over to where Adam was sitting and knelt down beside him. He brushed the back of his hand down my cheek. "Hey, Glitterstar. Adam told me what happened." He sighed and a small crease formed in his brow. "Everybody's pretty worried about you, ya know." I nodded slowly. My head was reeling from dehydration and colored dots swirled before my eyes and I just wanted to scream. "Adam tells me they're gonna try a blood transfusion."

"Yeah," I whispered. "But I don't—"

"It's going to work," Adam insisted again, more forcefully this time. "And you're going to be just fine. Then we'll go home, and I'm gonna find a place where you can get some help."

Closing my eyes, I let out a defeated breath, knowing full well that Adam would never listen to me. But I knew better than him that I didn't have much time left, even if I did get the transfusion. He might know that too, but he was obviously in a serious state of denial. So I just smiled a little, not wanting to upset him any further, because I was pretty sure that once Tommy got a hold of him, he'd set him straight pretty quick on what was realistic and what wasn't.

"Do you want something to drink?" Adam asked me. "I can ask a nurse if you can have some juice or water."

"Just ice chips," I croaked out. "If I drink anything, I swear I'll puke it up." He chuckled a little at that.

"Ice chips it is, then. I'll be right back." He ducked behind the curtain and went out into the hall, leaving Tommy and me alone in the room.

No sooner had Adam left, there was a soft knock on the wall, and a nurse pulled back the curtain to my room. "May I come in?" she asked hesitantly. I nodded. She entered and continued, "Ms. Neumann, I need to obtain a sample of your blood to see if you and Mr. Lambert are a match for your transfusion."

I glanced at Tommy and he just nodded. "Okay. Go ahead," I consented softly.

"Do you wanna hold my hand?" Tommy asked, grinning a little.

I giggled but reached for him anyway. I felt the tourniquet being snapped and tightened around my arm. The nurse flicked at my veins until she found a "good" one and said, "Little stick, honey… Ready? One…two…"

"Just look at me," Tommy whispered in my ear.

I locked my eyes on him and squeezed his hand as the needle punctured my skin and I felt a slight tugging sensation as the blood was drawn out of me.

Pieces of gauze and paper tape were simultaneously placed over the crook of my arm as soon as the needle was removed. I sighed and looked away from Tommy, letting go of his hand.

"Thanks, honey," the nurse said as she packed up her little box of supplies. "You were a brave girl. We'll have the results in a little while. Your tentative donor will be going down to the lab shortly for his blood test as well. Since you'll be here at least overnight, we're going to move you to a room upstairs after Mr. Lambert returns from the lab. Once the results are in, and in the case that the two of you are a match, we can begin the transfusion." Then she left the room, and Tommy and I were alone once again.

"I think you broke my hand," he muttered, looking down to inspect it. I snorted and batted at his shoulder.

"Liar," I retorted playfully.

The bassist got up from his crouched position and asked, "Mind if I sit?"

"Nah, go ahead." I patted the side of the bed. He scooted close and then there was a long moment of silence.

"Are you scared?" he asked quietly, looking down at his hands, which were folded in his lap.

"Yeah. Like, you can't even imagine," I said with a bitter laugh. I paused for a long moment. Finally I looked up at him. "You don't think the transfusion will work, do you?"

He was silent. "No," he whispered sadly with a shake of his head, meeting my eyes. "I don't."

"Me neither," I agreed. "But Adam…I think he _wants_ to believe that it'll work, but deep down, I think he knows better. I just don't understand why—"

"Christie, don't you see?" Tommy interrupted. "He wants to think that way because he loves you too much to let you go. He wants to keep you here with him for as long as he can." I could see tears glistening in his dark eyes.

"Sounds like a pretty selfish kind of love, if you ask me," I scoffed.

Tommy managed a small smile. "Yeah, well, that's Adam for you. He's kinda always been a little selfish in the love department."

"But if he really loves me, he'll _let me go_. He can't keep me here forever, Tommy, especially like this. We all know that I don't have much time left anyway. It—it's just not fair…" I whimpered, my voice catching in my throat.

"Aww, c'mere, Chris." Very gently, Tommy slid his arm under my back and lifted me up into an embrace, careful not to mess with my right arm. "I know. I know, you're scared," he whispered.

I rested my chin on Tommy's shoulder and turned my face into the side of his neck and cried. He placed a hand on the back of my hair, which was tangled and matted down with dried blood and sweat. My muscles were stiff, and I could feel my heartbeat slowing by the minute. I might be afraid to die, but maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so scary if I had the two people I cared about the most with me when the time came.


	6. Chapter 6

**Adam**

As I made my way toward the nurses' station, I was stopped in my tracks by Doctor Lewis, the resident in charge of Christie's care.

"Mr. Lambert, I'd like you to come to Radiology with me," he said. "We need to run a few of those tests we talked about to see if you and Christine are a match for the transfusion. I've already sent a nurse down to obtain a sample of Christine's blood."

My heart raced eagerly as I followed him down the hall, around two corners, and through a set of double doors. Once we had arrived, I was taken to what couldn't have been much bigger than a twelve-by-twelve room. It was filled with several different medical tools, although the first thing I noticed was a pair of metal cabinets with glass windows, revealing plastic bins of vial upon vial of blood. I immediately averted my eyes and braced myself against the arm of a chair in the room to keep myself from fainting. No wonder Tommy hated hospitals; this place was creepy! And I had just developed a new phobia—of blood. I recalled being about five or six years old and I had to get my blood drawn at the doctor's office. My mother and two nurses had to hold me down as another nurse struggled to get the needle into my vein to obtain the sample. I laid there, pinned to that table like a captured wild animal, kicking and screaming.

I gulped loudly as I watched the pretty platinum blonde phlebotomist enter the room with a small box of empty vials, needles, and gauze, among other things.

"Well, well, well," she purred. "Mr. Adam Lambert, as I live and breathe!" Clearly she was a fan. "Never could I have imagined that I would one day have the pleasure of sucking you dry." Her mouth was curved up in a tiny smirk, as if to answer herself with _"That's what she said!"_

I grinned a little, albeit somewhat uncomfortably, and eased myself back into the raised chair. She set her supplies down on the counter next to me and, against my better judgment, I watched out of the corner of my eye as she prepared the syringe, tiny vials, and a tourniquet. My eyes bugged out of my head as she secured the tourniquet just above the crook of my arm.

"So what're ya in for, if you don't mind my asking?" she said as she attended to the task at hand.

"Transfusion," I answered monotonously, staring blankly at the floor. She turned to look at me, eyebrows slightly raised. "Oh, not me!" I quickly corrected myself. "I'm…donating."

"Aww, good for you!" she chirped. "See, we need more people like you, Adam. Some of our donations even come from dead bodies." I shuddered. "Or four-legged critters."

"You can _do_ that?" I asked in surprise.

"Oh, sure. We don't do it very often, of course, but it happens on occasion." She cleaned a spot on my arm with an alcohol swab. "My name's Jess, by the way," she said, lightly smacking my veins. Then she took up a syringe and connected it to a vial. I gulped again and a laugh rolled out of her throat. "I'm making you pretty nervous, aren't I? You really need to calm down, honey," she said, trying to stifle her laugh. "It's just a needle. Don't be such a baby. Now, _relax_. You're gonna feel a little poke…"

No sooner had she said this, I blacked out, my head slamming forward on the padded armrest that folded over the front of the chair. She must've been new because she started to panic.

"_Oh, my god… Alex!" she shrieked, leaning out the doorway. "You better get in here! I-I think I killed him!"_

_A young Hispanic man wearing dark blue scrubs breezed into the room. "Jesus Christ, Jess, what the hell did you—" Upon seeing the unconscious Adam, Alex heaved a sigh of annoyance. "Oh, for God's sake! What did you do to him?"_

"_I didn't do anything!" Jess wailed. "I didn't even stick him yet! He just saw the needle and he just…" She gestured to her unconscious "victim." She looked like she was about to cry as she put the syringe back down on the counter._

"_Aw, damn it, gimme that thing!" Alex grumbled, snapping on a pair of latex gloves before sliding the needle into Adam's arm. Within a few seconds, four vials were filled and capped off. "There," he huffed, removing the tourniquet. "Now. Think you can wake him up without killing him?"_

"_Oh, stop bein' such a dick already!"_

_Alex stormed out of the room, leaving Jess alone with Adam. She inhaled nervously and got down on his eye-level. "Adam," she said, "I need you to open your eyes." He remained silent and unresponsive. She tried again, louder this time, and shaking him a bit. "Adam, wake up!" she commanded. "Come on, open your eyes!"_

Now I knew how Christie felt: wanting so badly to wake up and remove herself from this haze but being completely unable to do so. I groaned and turned my head slightly. I felt someone's hand on my arm and I opened one eye. It was Jess. She was crouched down in front of me, a very worried look on her face.

"Oh, thank God, you're awake," she said, relieved, and placing a hand over her racing heart. "I thought I'd killed you!"

I laughed a little and slowly lifted my head. "Well, then, I guess I saved you a lot of misery, huh?"

"You sure did." She lifted the armrest of the chair so I could get down. "Do you think you can walk?" she asked. I tried to get up but then clumsily flopped back down in the chair. She chuckled. "I'll take that as a 'no'."

I held my head in my hands. "Ugh, I'm dizzy…"

"I'll go get you some juice," she offered. "Your blood sugar probably just plummeted, I'm guessing."

_Juice… Oh, my god, the ice chips!_ I thought just then, my head flying up. I felt another tremendous rush of blood to my head and I cradled it in my hands again. "Yeah, juice would be nice, thanks. And do you think you could get some ice chips for me too?"

"Oooh, a little greedy, are we, Mr. Lambert?" she teased, putting a hand on her hip.

"Not for me," I replied. "It's for a friend. She's down the hall. She's pretty sick." I regretted letting the last sentence slip and my face burned.

She nodded in understanding and left the room. A few minutes later, Jess returned with two Styrofoam cups: one filled with apple juice and another with ice chips. She'd thrown in a packet of saltine crackers for good measure.

"Thanks," I said with a grateful smile.

Eager to return to Christie's room, I swallowed the juice in two gulps. I sat in the chair for a moment longer, waiting until the lightheadedness subsided, and then I tested my legs to make sure they wouldn't give out from under me again. They were still a little shaky, but I figured that if I went slow, I could make it back to Christie's room in one piece.

Before I left, I gently took Jess by the sleeve, pulled a pen from my pocket, and scribbled my name on the light-colored fabric. "That's for taking care of me. I'm sure my friend will appreciate it."

She glanced down at her sleeve and blushed as a huge grin spread across her face. "Well, I'm just doing my job. You know that. And I hope your friend gets better soon."

I was silent for a while before I replied, "Yeah. Me too." I collected the cup of ice chips and the crackers and left to go back to Christie's room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Christine**

Tommy was almost asleep on the edge of my bed while I just laid there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Time passed, and I kept wondering where Adam was. _Where is he? It shouldn't be taking this long,_ I thought to myself. Just then he pulled the patterned curtain aside and slowly walked into the room. He stopped abruptly when he saw Tommy lying beside me on the bed.

"What the—"

Tommy's eyes flew open and he bolted upright, and he helped me into a sitting position too, placing a few pillows behind my back for support.

"You're back," I said, slightly surprised. "What took so long?"

"Long story. But I'll tell you what, this transfusion better work because I just went through a lot of crap for you, all for them to just get a tiny sample to test and me to pass out in the process."

My mouth fell open at the tone of his voice and his choice of words, and Tommy scooted off the bed and went to retrieve the ice chips, but Adam jerked them out of his reach. "I'll take care of that, if you don't mind," he said curtly.

Tommy backed down and went to sit in the chair underneath the TV that was mounted on the wall. Adam took his place in the chair next to my bed.

"Got your ice chips," he said triumphantly.

"Yeah, 'bout time," I laughed. I glanced over at Tommy, who sat with his hands between his knees and his head bowed a little.

Adam took a few pieces of ice out of the cup and placed them in my mouth. I didn't chew them right away, just let them melt and sooth my dry, aching throat. Once I had swallowed the cold, satisfying liquid, I opened my mouth again, much like a baby bird waiting for its mother to feed it another worm. This time I slowly chewed the small chips.

"I got you some crackers too, if you think you can keep something down," Adam commented.

"M'kay. While you were gone, a nurse came in to draw my blood"—Adam paled at the word—"and she said that I'll get moved to a room upstairs after we find out the results of the tests."

"Do you want me to stay with you?" he asked.

"If you want to."

"Ya know, Adam," Tommy finally spoke up, placing his hands on the armrests of his chair and gripping them until his knuckles turned white, "maybe she'd like the _both_ of us to stay." Even in the dark, I saw something flash in his eyes. Jealousy, perhaps?

"Oh, I don't know, _Thomas,_" Adam spat. "Why don't we let Christie decide, shall we?" He nodded in my direction.

I shook my head in frustration. "Oh, Jesus, don't do this," I sighed tiredly, "Look, you guys, I'm not in the mood to do this and, frankly, I'm too tired. So all I'm gonna say is this: if you're gonna fight, you can both just leave. I don't want either of you here if this is what you're going to do. So really, it's _your_ decision. You can choose to behave and you can stay, or you have to leave." I looked from Adam to Tommy and back at Adam again. "Your choice."

They were both quiet for a long time. Adam stood and said, "Christie, we'll be right outside. We'll be back in a minute. Just yell if you need anything, okay?" I nodded. And then they were gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Adam**

"What is the _matter_ with you, man?" I snapped as soon as we stepped out of Christie's room and out of earshot. "Why are you being like this, huh? You know she can't take shit like this right now."

Tommy just shook his head and went to sit down on a nearby bench. "This is hard for me too, y'know," he argued. "I mean, she's sick, you're gone. You're not yourself anymore, baby." The anger in his eyes melted away, revealing an overwhelming sadness.

"How can I be myself when one of my best friends is _dying_?" I cried, flinging my hand in the direction of Christie's room. "Tommy, there's a ninety-five-percent chance that she's not gonna walk out of this hospital." I paused. "And you know why?" Tommy just stared back at me. "It's because I wasn't there for her! If I'd been at home, none of this would've happened." I hung my head guiltily.

My glitterbaby stood up and walked over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Listen to me, Babyboy," he said softly. "Even if you had been there, this probably would've happened anyway."

"Don't say that!" I tried to back away, but his grip was firm and he didn't let go of me.

"You know she had self-harm problems when she was a teenager. Sooner or later, stuff like that is bound to recur. No matter how much you want to, it's not necessarily something you can prevent." Tommy paused for a second, then added quietly, "You know she doesn't want this."

My head jerked up and I glared at him, jabbing a defiant finger in his face. "I don't care! _I_ signed those papers. Don't say anoth—"

"And you know the only reason you're doing this is because you're too afraid to let her go. Adam, if there's one thing I know, it's that you don't mess with fate. You can't keep her here forever, if that's not what's supposed to happen."

I felt like I'd just been slapped. I stood there, gaping openmouthed at him, my eyes wide with shock. "Tommy, how could you—"

"You know it's true." His voice was stern and dangerously quiet. After a very uncomfortable silence, he added, "If you love her, Adam, you'll let her go." He sat down on one of the nearby benches, his back turned to me.

That's when I turned to face him. Tears stung my eyes as I stared, brokenhearted, at my pixie-like boyfriend. How could someone so small have so much power inside? But that's when everything gave way and I finally collapsed down next to him on the bench.

"Still. I just…I don't understand why she—" I felt so helpless as I rested my head on Tommy's shoulder. He hugged me tightly and kissed the corner of my mouth.

"I know, it hurts. It hurts me too. You may not think so, but it does." He leaned up and, with his thumbs, wiped away my tears and more of the smudged eyeliner that rimmed my eyes. "But she needs us to be strong for her now, and that's exactly what we're going to do, no matter how hard it is. You hear me?"

I nodded. "I hear you," I said. "And I'm sorry for being such an ass back in there."

Tommy gave me a tight-lipped grin. "It's okay. I understand why. Just know that I'm here for you, and I'm here for Christie too. Alright?"

Then I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, letting another bout of tears fall from my eyes. He took my face in his hands and kissed me softly on the mouth, briefly flicking his tongue inside. I smiled into the kiss and pressed harder, closer to him. I missed this. I needed this. And in a way, I think he did too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Christine**

A few minutes later, Adam and Tommy reentered the room hand-in-hand, just as a pair of orderlies arrived to take me upstairs to a room, where I would stay for the next few days. The stretcher jolted as they unlocked the brakes and pushed it forward a few feet. My head reeled at the sudden movement but calmed down as soon as it started moving smoothly across the linoleum floor. Adam guided the pole that my bag of fluids was attached to, trying to keep it as close to me as possible in order to refrain from tugging on my IV. Tommy followed close behind as we made our way down the hall to an elevator.

When we reached the fifth floor of the hospital, I was taken into a bigger room—light turquoise walls, mauve curtains, a television, and a nightstand and closet. The lights were off (thank God) and I was helped over from the stretcher to the turned-down bed. The sheets were starched stiff but they felt crisp and cool and I sighed deeply as my head hit the cloudlike pillow. I took up the control that had a nurse call button, TV controls, and a few other switches to lower or raise the head or foot of the bed. I pressed my thumb to that particular button, raising the head of the bed to a forty-five-degree angle. An orderly plugged my IV into an outlet in the wall while Tommy covered me halfway with the blanket on the bed, and Adam set the cup of ice chips on the nightstand.

Just as the orderly was leaving, I moaned loudly in pain. Tommy and Adam were instantly at my side. "What's wrong?" they asked. "What hurts? Should I get a nurse?"

I whimpered and began trembling as I looked down at my arm, which, once again, was bleeding through the bandages. So much for trying to sew me up, Doc! I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth, trying not to cry out. "Push…the red…button…" I gasped as hot tears poured down my cheeks.

Then I heard a voice through the speaker in the control say in a dull tone, "What do you need?"

"Please send a nurse in," Adam demanded. "Right away." The speaker clicked off and I opened my eyes. Adam gripped the railing of my bed as Tommy sat hunched over in the rocking chair a few feet away. His hands covered his face, and I wasn't sure if he was crying or not.

The door to my room slammed open but I didn't open my eyes. "What's wro—" a nurse began, but she stopped suddenly. I assumed that she had just seen that I was bleeding again.

She set to work right away, unlocking one of the cabinets, taking out two small bottles of medicine. She took out a couple of syringes, loading each of them up with the medications.

"This one," she said, "is your morphine. It should help with the pain. And this one will thicken your blood, and hopefully slow, or even stop, the bleeding."

She injected the morphine directly into my line, and within a few seconds, my whole body felt numb and somewhat itchy, and my throat seized up a little, making it difficult to breathe. I inhaled deeply through the oxygen tubes. My eyes were closed the whole time, and the pain quickly subsided. The other medication, however, was run through my infusion pump over the course of half an hour. I heard Adam get up and walk toward the door, speaking to the nurse in a low voice. I didn't care, though. Whatever it was, it probably wouldn't end up mattering anyway. When I opened my eyes, Adam was gone. I looked over to where to Tommy was, and he was already making his way over to my bedside.

"Where's Adam?" I asked weakly. Tommy took my hand in his and brushed his thumb over the back of it.

"He went out to speak with the nurse, and hopefully get a hold of one of the doctors. Apparently the results of your blood tests are in, so we'll know soon whether or not you two are a match."

I felt my body grow cold and my eyes widened in fear. "What if—?"

Tommy just slowly shook his head. "Glitterstar, I don't know what's gonna happen," he sighed. He pushed away a piece of white-blonde hair that had fallen into his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. He bit his lip before adding, "But whatever happens, we're both gonna be right here with you."

I smiled gratefully as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. "Thank you," I whispered, refraining from speaking louder because I was afraid my voice would crack.

Suddenly Adam entered the room, grinning widely, with a nurse and the same doctor from the ER in tow. "We're a match!" he announced excitedly.


	10. Chapter 10

**Adam**

Anticipation and hope bubbled in my chest as I made my way down the hall to the nurses' station at the middle of the ward. On my way there, the doctor who'd examined Christie caught my eye and I pulled him aside.

"Do you have anything yet?" I asked anxiously. It wasn't until Dr. Lewis started speaking that I realized that I'd been holding my breath.

"Yes," he replied confidently. "And the two of you are a match."

A huge grin exploded across my face. "Well, then, we need to get started right away," I insisted.

Dr. Lewis walked back to Christie's room with me. "Now, Mr. Lambert, I understand that Christine is against the idea of this transfusion altogether…"

"I know she is…but Doc, we've at least gotta try this."

"Once again, I impress upon you the giant risk the two of you are taking—"

A vein was pulsating in my forehead and I clenched my fists at my sides. I briefly closed my eyes in an effort to keep my cool and not explode on this guy. He was, after all, just doing his job. But this constant reminding of his was really, really starting to bug me. I knew the risks, I knew what I was getting myself into, and I knew that Christie's life really was at risk now, especially if the transfusion didn't work, in which case, I'd never be able to forgive myself.

"Very well," Dr. Lewis agreed finally. "We'd better get started, then." He called for a nurse to bring in the necessary supplies for the procedure and the three of us returned to Christie's room.

Tommy had finally stopped crying and he sat silent and motionless at her bedside, looking almost as pale as she did. I swallowed hard, saying a quick prayer for this whole thing to go off without a hitch. I put on a brave smile and took Christie's hand, reassuring her that everything would be alright.

She sighed, doubt evident in her eyes. "Adam," she said. "I…you…" She scrunched her eyes closed for a minute, probably trying to fight off tears. "Thank you," she whispered shakily, brushing the top my hand.

I just nodded. Now the bravery and self-assuredness I had previously felt was slowly falling away and my heart started to race. I placed a hand over my chest, trying to still the uncontrollable palpitations.

An orderly rolled a stretcher into the room and placed it next to Christie's bed. I slowly sat and swung my legs up so I could lie down. A pillow was slid under my head and I tried to relax. I took a deep breath, but that didn't seem to help. Dr. Lewis left the room at the same time that a nurse entered.

"Ahh, Mr. Lambert," the older woman greeted me, recognition in both her voice and her eyes. She was short and slightly plump—the typical grandmother sort—with her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun. Wrinkles rimmed her kind blue eyes and her lips were surprising full for a woman of her age. Her nametag read "GINGER" and it had her picture on it. "Your presence has caused quite a stir here today." She smiled. "My granddaughters love you," she added. "They're right; you're very handsome, indeed!" We both smiled at that. "Of course," she laughed, "they refer to you as a 'sexy rock god'." She blushed slightly and I laughed even harder. I heard Christie giggle from her bed a few feet away.

"Maybe I could give you my autograph to give to them," I said, reaching for the notepad and pen on the nightstand. She told me their names, and on the pad, I scrawled, _"To Allie and Madelyn—you guys rock! Love, Adam."_ I sketched out a heart at the end of the message. "Here, keep this," I added, holding the pad out to her. She tucked it into the pocket of her flowered blouse and smiled appreciatively.

"Now," she said, all business. "Let's get the show on the road, shall we? I'll need to take your vitals first, of course." She fastened a blood pressure cuff around my upper right arm, thrust a thermometer under my tongue, and clipped a blood-oxygen monitor to my fingertip.

Then I stiffened and blanched when I saw her pull a needle, syringe, and a few tubes from her little box of supplies. Bile started to rise in my throat and I willed myself not to pass out again.

"Nervous, are we?" she chuckled, smiling a little. "Don't worry, this'll only sting for a second, I promise."

She readied to snap the tourniquet around my arm and just as the latex strip touched my skin, I said, "Wait!" She looked up briefly. "I—I had a really bad experience the last time this happened…" I confessed, blushing furiously. "Could I...could I hold someone's hand?" God, I felt like such a _child_ when I said that, but if I didn't, I was bound to have a repeat of what happened earlier in the lab.

"Sure, baby," Tommy said, getting up from his chair and kneeling down next to me. He grabbed my left hand and I took a deep breath and squeezed his hand hard when the needle pierced the sensitive skin in the bend of my right arm. Once the tiny catheter had been inserted and the needle was extracted, I let out the breath I'd been holding and rested my head back against the pillow behind me.

Ginger bent down further and hooked a few bags that were meant to collect my blood to a low pole. After that, she connected me with more tubes that attached to the bags, and my blood began rushing through the tubes and dripping into the bags. I had to look away; I couldn't stand to watch my own blood being drained out of me. But I knew that what I was doing was the right thing, and knowing that made me feel a whole lot better.


End file.
